run away, baby, before I put my spell on you
by beakanoma
Summary: In his quest for a cure to his physical mutation, Hank gets more than he bargained for – and then some. 'X-Men: First Class' HankAlex slash. WARNING: dubious use of telepathic control, but nothing too scary.


**Title:** you better run away, baby (before I put my spell on you)  
**Author:** kevo  
**Pairing:** Hank/Alex  
**Rating:** PG-13 (language, sexual situations)  
**Warnings:**: dubious use of telepathic control, but nothing too scary.  
**Word Count:** just over 6,500  
**Summary:** In his quest for a cure to his physical mutation, Hank gets more than he bargained for – and then some.  
**Author's Note:** Inspired by two 'love potion' fic prompts. Not quite a love potion, but it's what called out to me.

**you better run away, baby (before I put my spell on you)**

Hank McCoy is in a foul mood this morning.

After hours and days of research and experiments and late nights spent alone in his lab, hunched over said research and experiments until his back ached and his shoe-caged feet screamed from being confined so much longer than they needed to be, after all that he thought he'd finally done it last night. Finally discovered the cure to the cosmetic aspect of his mutation.

He was wrong. All that work, all that time spent, and the only results yielded were the shattered remnants of the syringe on the lab floor from when Hank threw it at the wall in anger.

To make matters worse, he's in such a huff as he stomps to the bathroom that he doesn't watch where he's going and bumps shoulders with Alex. (Knowing the delinquent, however, he might've knocked into Hank on purpose.)

"Easy there, Satchmo," Alex grunts.

"I believe you mean Sasquatch," Hank corrects him.

"Right, right," Alex replies with an eye roll, as if knowing the proper terminology for his insults is beneath him. "Just watch where you're going, monkey-feet."

He's turning to go on his way when he stops, chest puffed out with an intake of breath, malice shifting into something Hank doesn't recognize on Alex's face. Hank supposes it's concern, but that can't be right.

"Hey, are you, um – Did something happen to you?" he asks.

"What?"

"I dunno, you seem… off," Alex observes.

His interest almost seems genuine, and it's all the more infuriating to Hank, who snaps, perhaps a tad harsher than he needs to, "Do you care?"

"I guess not," Alex breezes, and keeps walking.

The cloud hanging over Hank's head turns even darker as he trudges down to the kitchen. The last person he wanted to see after the epic failure of last night was Alex.

Perfect, handsome Alex, whose limbs aren't long and gangly, and who can walk around barefoot without fear of people losing their lunch. Alex, with his easily-manageable golden hair, his winning smile (though smirk is usually more accurate). Alex who, even when he's being a dick, has a raw energy about him that makes you hungry for his attention. Every time Hank looks at the blond man, he feels a sad stirring in his chest, a longing to be like him. All his life he's felt it, whenever he encountered another male whose attractiveness or confidence or even sheer normalcy has put Hank's own physically-awkward, introverted self to shame. But for some reason it's the worst with Alex. The pain in his chest is so bad he thinks sometimes he might scream.

The cause for this, as best as he can deduce, is sitting at the kitchen island eating Cheerios when Hank enters. Raven is the first girl who's ever shown an interest in Hank out of more than pity, and the only one he's never had to fear the reaction of if she knew his true nature. Even if she didn't think he was a freak, Hank yearned to be more normal for her, to be the kind of man who is worthy of being seen with her. These insecurities are made all the more difficult to cope with when Alex, a prime male specimen, is around all day, every day, taunting Hank in ways the blond doesn't even intend.

Raven smiles around the spoon in her mouth upon seeing Hank, and he smiles back, his no doubt more tenuous than hers.

"Morning, sleepybrains," she says. "What's going on? You're usually up with the sun."

"Bad night," he mutters.

"Sorry to hear that," Raven replies with a sympathetic half-frown. "Pull up a bowl and tell me about it."

Hank pours himself some cereal and climbs onto the stool beside her.

"I thought I found the cure last night," he admits sullenly. "I was wrong."

"Ohh, Hank," says Raven.

He knows the crestfallen expression on her face is genuine. If anyone understands how badly this failure stings, it's the girl with the naturally blue skin and yellow eyes. She takes his hand, resting on the table. The touch is slightly too soft to be comforting enough, but he's grateful for the effort.

"I'm a scientist," Hank says. "I know this is what happens sometimes. But… I was so close. Closer than I've ever been before."

"I know," she says, leaning over to embrace him awkwardly from her stool. "I'm so sorry, Hank. If I could share my ability with you, I would."

"It wouldn't change what I am underneath," he replies, then winces, hoping he didn't strike to close to home with that comment.

"Believe me, I know," Raven sniffs.

For a moment, Hank worries he's made her cry (and really that is so something Hank McCoy would do to the first girl who's ever truly liked him), but then she sniffs again, longer this time. And he realizes she's not crying at all; she's smelling him.

"Um, Raven?" Hank asks.

"Mmm, sorry," Raven says as she pulls away, in a sultry manner that makes Hank's chest rumble. "You just… You smell different today. Are you wearing cologne?"

"N-no," replies Hank. "Don't own any. Never really saw the point."

"Well, the point is to impress fine young ladies, Hank," the girl informs him.

"I-I-I suppose that's true," Hank says, nudging his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "But I've never really had any, uh, young ladies I wanted to impress. Before now, that is."

"Oh, you don't need to worry about impressing me," Raven says. She's moved so much closer, how did Hank not notice her moving closer? "I'm already impressed."

"You – you are?" Hank asks meekly, cursing his socially-bumbling nature.

"Definitely," she breathes, her lips now dangerously close to Hank's, and her hand – _oh God_ – running up his thigh. "I wanna know if that thing about guys with big feet is true."

Simultaneously, and before Hank can even think of a response, her lips and her hand find their separate targets. It's not Hank's first kiss by far. However, it's the first one he's had that also involves a hand on his crotch, at least for some time now. The lower half of his body is more eager to react to her attention than the upper half, but Hank has enough brain cells still firing that he thinks to kiss back.

Until Alex stumbles into the room. Then Hank's instincts become to tear himself away from the lip-lock. He tries doing this without looking foolish. It turns out to be something Hank is incapable of.

"Huh," is all Alex has to say as he observes the flustered duo with a raised eyebrow. That and a flat, "Sorry to interrupt."

"It's fine," Raven chirps, her tone bright but her eyes murderous. "Not like it's anything we can't pick up later."

"Fantastic," Alex grumbles, glaring back at her. Hank doesn't think he ever forgave the shape-changer for calling his feet small. "Make sure you pick it up somewhere people don't eat."

"Aww, don't get cranky just because you're jealous," Raven teased.

This mockery doesn't sit well with Alex, who goes red-faced and hurls, "Fuck you, Mystique, you don't know shit," at her before storming out, his reason for venturing into the kitchen forgotten.

"Struck a nerve," Raven coos, turning her attention back to Hank. "I guess he won't be bothering us anymore…"

"I-I-I, I still think we sh-should, um, m-maybe not, uh, Raven," Hank stammers, sliding gracelessly from his stool. "This is, you know, it's still the kitchen, after all."

"Are you suggesting a change of venue?" the blonde girl leers. "Perhaps upstairs…?"

"Um. I, uh. Um. Oh boy."

Hank is rather lightheaded all of a sudden, making him feel stupid and womanly. This, with Raven, this wasn't what he expected. He always knew she was a very forward girl, sitting on his lap in the lab and whatnot. What she seems to be suggesting now, however, is something else entirely. The way she grabbed him, is beyond anything…

"I think I need to go lie down," Hank mutters, refusing to make eye contact. Raven squeaks in protest but Hank is already bounding out of the kitchen.

He doesn't stop until he's out on the grounds, forgetting his previous impulse to go back to his room. He may still go, but he needs some fresh air first. His senses are on overload, his nostrils clogged with the supersweet stench of Raven's perfume, skin burning where Raven touched him. Too much, far too much.

This isn't the first time he's panicked when cornered into a sexual situation by a girl. There was an older girl – well, she was a woman, really, at least compared to Hank. He was sixteen, and she twenty-one. She'd said she found his genius adorable. Hank told himself that his panic, his flight, his determination to avoid her afterward, was due to his mutation. No way could she find him adorable if she saw him for what he really was.

Yet Raven knows what Hank really is. She's seen his secret shame. And she called him beautiful anyway. So why was he reacting this way now?

The sound of heavy, rapid footsteps shakes Hank from his contemplation. His head snaps up in time to catch Alex coming around the corner of the mansion, jogging at a brisk pace. As he passes Hank, without breaking his stride, Alex actually winks. Hank takes a step backwards as if the simple gesture was a physical blow.

That settles it. Hank definitely wants to go back to bed.

As he's heading up the stairs to his room, Sean is coming down.

"Yo-ho, Hank," the red-head greets him with a salute.

"Um, hi Sean," Hank replies, attempting to pass quickly.

Cutting off Hank's path, he asks, "What's up, buddy?"

"Nothing, Sean, nothing at all," Hank mutters.

"Where you off to in such a hurry?"

"What? Me? N-nowhere," Hank stutters.

Getting boxed like this always takes him back to grade school and being bullied by the older boys he was smarter than. He reminds himself that this is nothing like then, and that he's safe here. He strains to slow his breathing. It doesn't help that Sean is uncomfortably close, so much that Hank can hear every deep breath the other boy is taking in through his nose.

"I mean, upstairs," he says, "I'm going upstairs. Although I wouldn't say I was in any sort of a rush."

"Oh yeah? Because I saw Raven going that way a little while ago looking rather pleased. You weren't heading to meet her, were you?"

"Wh-what! No! Of course not!"

"You sure?" Sean smirks. "'cause, uh… I know I wouldn't mind getting a bit of that action."

"Huh? Oh, right," says Hank. "Yes. I suppose Raven is rather attractive."

Sean leans in even closer now, so much that Hank can feel his body heat radiating through his thin T-shirt and the gentle air from Sean's nostrils on his neck.

"Who said anything about Raven?"

"I – I don't…" And then, as the meaning of Sean's question sinks in, he feels the smaller boy's hand sliding up the inseam of his pants. "Oh. Oh! Um, I have to go."

He pushes easily past Sean, taking the stairs three and four at a time, not stopping until he's in his bedroom with the door shut. He rests his forehead against the wooden door and closes his eyes so he can think.

_What on earth is happening today?_ his mind reels.

"It's about time you showed up."

Jumping several inches off the floor, Hank spins around to see Raven in his bed, under his sheets. Under his sheets and nothing else. She's naked in his bed, waiting for him. Who would even do something like that?

"You don't look happy to see me," she pouts.

"N-no! I mean, that's – that's not – good God, Raven, put some clothes on!" Hank cries.

He grabs the bathrobe he'd left draped over his desk chair and crosses to the bed, hoping to get Raven into it. She sits up, letting the sheet she was covered with flutter immodestly from her breasts. Hank averts his eyes and offers the robe to her blindly.

"You don't have to look away, Hank," she says. "I want you to look. Ever since this morning, in the kitchen…"

Now Hank does look, but at her face, not her body.

"What do you mean 'since this morning?'" he asks. "You didn't feel that way before then?"

"Well, I always thought you were kinda cute," says Raven, "but then this morning, I don't know, it's like all of a sudden I'm seeing you in this new light. You smelled so amazing and –"

Suddenly, the bedroom door opens.

"Hey, Hank, I was thinking we could –"

Standing at the threshold is Sean. He takes in the scene before him, Hank looming over Raven naked in his bed, and turns red with fury.

"What – what the hell is this!" he shrieks.

"Sean, get out!" yells Raven. "Hank and I want to be alone!"

"Um, that's not entirely accurate –"

"Hank doesn't want to waste his time with your skanky blue ass," Sean scoffs. "He wants to hang with me. You should've seen the way he was looking at me on the stairs before."

"Please, the only way Hank would look at you is out of pity," Raven responds.

"Wanna bet!"

Realizing that it'd be best to remove himself from the situation, Hank ducks out while Raven and Sean are bickering. In his haste to escape, he once again almost barrels into Alex, still sweaty from his brief run.

"Dude, are you having a party in your room or something?" he asks. "How come I wasn't invited?"

"Not now, Alex," mutters Hank.

He needs help, and he certainly won't get it from Alex. Hank knows who he has to speak to. He races down the stairs so fast he almost trips over his own two large feet. The library doors are open, so he goes right in and finds Charles at a desk looking over some maps Moira provided.

"Professor?" Hank ventures meekly.

"Hank!" Charles greets him, bright and beaming like the morning sun. He's truly taken to having real 'students' these last few weeks. "Hello! What can I do for you?"

"Erm. I think… I think I've done something… bad."

"That sounds serious," Charles frowns, though not nearly as much as Hank thinks he will be in a moment. "Is something broken?"

"Uhh," Hank hesitates, "maybe me?"

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I, really," mutters Hank. "Um. I developed something in the lab last night, and-and injected myself with it."

"Oh, Hank." The words are heavy with disappointment. "Your mutation, it's –?"

"Still with me, I'm afraid," Hank replies, ignoring Charles's relived expression for the moment. "That's not the problem. The chemical I dosed myself with, I think that it's… I think it's done something to me."

When he hesitates to continue, Charles gently prods him with a, "Go on."

"Earlier, in the kitchen," he says at a snail's pace, delaying this as long as he can, "I was with Raven, and she, um, was rather… affectionate."

Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Charles says, "Yes, well, there has been a certain… shall we say rapport, between the two of you. That sort of behavior is to be expected."

"Perhaps," Hank reasons, "but she was far more aggressive than she's ever been. More than I think is normal, even for her. We were interrupted by Alex and went our separate ways. But then I ran into Sean, and he behaved in a manner similar to the way Raven had."

"Sean?" Charles squawks. "That… That's very interesting."

"Normally I would agree with you," says Hank. "If this were merely a test subject we were talking about. When the test subject is _**me**_, it becomes rather more disconcerting."

"Yes, I can imagine it would be," says Charles. "And you think this might be related to whatever it is you concocted. That is troubling. Hank, I want you to think: did these two encounters have anything in common? Anything that Raven and Sean said or did?"

_Don't mention crotch-grabbing, don't mention crotch-grabbing, don't mention crotch-grabbing,_ Hank's mind screams on a level he hopes is too low for Charles to pick up on.

"Uuum, beyond similarly forceful behavior?" he muses instead of the vulgar alternative in his head. "Nothing I can – oh! They-they were both, uh, sniffing me."

"Sniffing you?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" Hank exclaims. "In fact, that was when they started to act strangely. Raven even noted that I smelled different."

"Interesting," says Charles, fingers steepled in thought. "So perhaps this serum has forced you to produce some kind of scent, possibly even pheromones, which are engendering this, er, reaction."

"It's theoretically possible," Hank permits. "The kind of gene splicing required for this would have to be precise. If I isolated the wrong genetic properties, who knows what might…" He trails off, not wanting to admit the many things that he knew could've gone wrong and was willing to risk anyway for the sake of normalcy.

"I must say, I expected better of you, Hank," Charles chides. "This was unbelievably irresponsible. For a number of reasons, not the least of all being that you could have hurt yourself, or someone else. Suppose you'd given Raven this serum? Hm?"

"I know," says Hank, averting his eyes in shame.

"You must abandon this mad quest for a cure," Charles pleads. "You don't need it." He pats Hank's arm affectionately. "Your mutation is wonderful." Then the patting slows to the point of bordering on gently stroking. "…Beautiful, even."

Hank looks up at Charles, perturbed.

"Beautiful?"

"Yes, Hank, beautiful," Charles confirms, a lazy smile spreading across his face. "It's a very… A very groovy mutation."

_'Groovy mutation'?_ Hank repeats to himself.

"As a fellow scientist," Charles continues, "I'm sure you're aware that mutation is what took us from single-celled organisms to being the most dominant form of reproductive life on this planet."

He's moved very close into Hank's space now, prompting the nervous young scientist to squeak out a pathetic, "Puh-puh-professor?"

"Infinite forms of variation with each generation, all through mutation. All of us, mutants. What say you and I reclaim that word together, eh, Hank?"

Suddenly, the professor's face is coming toward Hank's. The younger man jumps back in alarm.

"Charles, please!"

"Ooh, begging," Charles grins wickedly, advancing upon him. "I like where this is going."

"Professor, I came to you for help," Hank says in a manner not unlike pouting. "And if you're not going to give it, then I'll simply find help someplace else."

He's at the threshold of the library when, behind him, Charles intones a very firm, "Stop."

Hank stops. His mind has gone suddenly quite foggy. He can't remember why he was even going to leave in the first place.

_Hank, I'm sorry it had to come to this._ A voice that's a lot like Charles's, only doubly soothing, speaks in Hank's mind. _I would have much preferred to do this the usual way, but I cannot wait any longer. I must have you. Now, please be so kind as to strip for me._

And Hank turns back around, proceeding to undress. It seems, to him, to be the most logical course of action right now. Why was he even clothes in the first place? Silly Hank. Silly, silly Hank. No matter. That will be corrected in mere moments.

He removes his lab coat and bow tie, and shrugs off his suspenders, all with Charles reclined in a leather armchair, watching. He's just starting to work on his button-up flannel shirt when Alex comes in through the library's other door, a thing Hank only barely notices as he untucks his shirt to get to the final buttons.

"Professor, something weird's going on. Sean is crying and – whoa!"

The frown and awkward flush Alex reacts with are meaningless and do nothing to deter Hank's motions. He carefully (and, for the first time in his life, unabashedly) slips out of his shoes, lest they impede the removal of his pants, the next article of clothing to go.

"Alex!" Charles exclaims sternly. He rises, flustered, from his seat. "I know the place we took you out of couldn't have done much for your manners, but you're still expected to knock before entering a room in this house."

"Well it's a good thing I didn't!" Alex snaps back. "What the hell is going on in here? Hank, put your clothes back on!"

That's not what Hank's supposed to be doing, so he doesn't. Instead he lets his pants fall in a pool around his ankles, then steps gingerly out of them.

"Hank?" Alex says, concerned. When the taller man does not respond, Alex turns to Charles, snarling, "You're doing this to him, aren't you?"

"He left me no choice," Charles replies, devoid of remorse. "I simply cannot wait for him to quit playing hard to get."

"What the hell?" Alex cries. "You son of a bitch, we trusted you!"

He then punches Professor Xavier across the face.

The action has a sobering effect on the telepath, and causes his hold on Hank to falter slightly. It does not break, but it does stop Hank's hands as they reach for the hem of his white cotton undershirt. He stands motionless, in his socks and undergarments, awaiting further instructions.

"Alex," Charles gasps, like a man taking his first breath after nearly drowning. "My God. Thank goodness you showed up. What I almost did – I'm so ashamed. This chemical, it's stronger than I anticipated."

"What chemical? What are you talking about? What the damn hell is going on around here!"

"It's Hank," Charles answers. "He – he created a serum. Injected himself with it."

"Not more of this cure bullshit," Alex groans.

"It's a tad more serious than that, I'm afraid. The serum didn't cure Hank's physical mutation, it added one. He's secreting pheromones."

"That doesn't sound good," Alex murmurs, glancing at Hank who's still statue-frozen. "In fact, it sounds kind of gross."

"Actually, it's rather brilliant. Or it would be, if he could control it. Unfortunately, that's not the case. As I said, these chemicals are very strong, and seem to affect those around Hank indiscriminately."

"But why am I out of the loop?" Alex demands. "I've been around Hank already today and I don't feel any different."

"Hank mentioned that," Charles says slowly, in an almost delicate manner, as if he's not completely comfortable with the conclusion he's drawn. "As best I can theorize, Alex, the pheromones inspire a physical and emotional response that the rest of us weren't prepared for. A response that wasn't there before today. Someone who already had that response, without the aid of these chemicals, I believe would be unaffected by them. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Alex appears stricken by Charles's words. Then, once they sink in, he nods mutely. Hank, still floating in his fog, doesn't understand why Alex is upset, and wonders whether it would help if Alex took his clothes off, too.

"Whu-wha- mm… What do we do?" Alex stammers.

"I'm afraid there's nothing I can do for either of you," Charles informs him. "Once I release Hank, you'll both need to run."

"Where?"

"It doesn't matter," Charles replies impatiently. "In fact, it's probably best that I don't know. But stay on the grounds! Who knows what might happen if you were to go into town?"

In an instant, the fog lifts, and Hank's mind is suddenly his own again. The last thing he clearly remembers is going to leave the library. Everything since is hazy at best. He has no idea how long Alex has been here or, worse, why Hank's own clothing is in a pile on the floor.

"Hank," Charles pants. "I'm so sorry."

"I-I-I don't understand," Hank stutters, blushing at his near-nudity. "What's happened?"

"Professor X tried to make you do a sexy striptease because that wacked-out junk you took is making fur-a-moans or something," Alex explains.

"Pheromones, Alex," Charles corrects, "but thank you for putting it so succinctly."

"Oh," Hank says. His face goes from blushing to pale faster than is possibly healthy. "Oh my stars and garters, what have I done?"

"Hank, there will be plenty of time to assign blame later," Charles implores, his composure rapidly crumbling. "Right now, I need you to go, as quickly as you can."

"Yes, yes, of course," says Hank.

Upon stooping to gather his clothes, he finds they've already been collected by Alex.

"C'mon, let's go," he orders.

Without a second glance back at Charles, Hank follows Alex out into the hallway. As he hurries alongside the blond mutant to put distance between them and the library, a thought occurs to Hank.

"It might be best if I continue on my own," he says. "The pheromones, if you were to succumb…"

"I'm immune," Alex says blandly. "The professor said so."

"How can you be?"

"I don't know and I don't really care," Alex snaps. "What I do know is that makes me the only one who can protect your sorry ass."

"Okay then what do you suggest we do?"

This doesn't stop Alex, though Hank wishes it would, at least for a moment so he could get his pants back.

"Professor X said to stay on the grounds," Alex tells him. "It's too risky to go into town while you're like this."

"That doesn't leave us a lot of options," Hank notes.

"What about the bunker?" Alex suggests. "It locks from the inside."

"It'll have to do for now. We should hurry before we run into –"

Too late. Right as they're rounding a corner that would lead them toward the basement, Hank and Alex practically run right into Erik.

"Well, well," he says. "It seems you've gotten yourself into quite a mess, Hank."

"How did you know?" asks Hank.

"Charles. He warned me," Erik explains, tapping the side of his head to indicate telepathy, "what you've done, and what might happen if I run into you."

"You seem to be fine," Alex observes.

"I have a bit more self-control than the rest of you."

This is true, and probably why neither Hank nor Alex are prepared to react when Erik grabs Hank by his shirtfront and yanks him forward for a peck on the lips.

"Holy shit, man!" Alex cries when what's happening registers, moving immediately to pry Erik off the stunned scientist. "What happened to self-control?"

"Just because I have the ability to manipulate steel doesn't mean I'm made from it, Alex. It would seem I'm as susceptible as anyone else. Everyone, that is, except for you."

The smirk he gives Alex, for some reason, makes the younger man look away angrily. As if he's guessed the reason for Alex's immunity and it's now a secret Erik is holding over him. A secret that Hank is still not privy to. Not that that's what's important at the moment. Not at all.

"I was hoping that indulging my urges briefly, and chastely, might cool them down for a spell." He frowns. "It didn't work as well as I'd like, but I think I'm more in control than if I hadn't done it."

"You couldn't run your idea by me first?" Hank asks, wiping the older man's saliva from his lips with the back of his hand.

"My apologies, Hank," says Erik. "The impulse truly is quite strong. Even considering it compelled my body to act. In fact, I think you're going to have to hit me."

"What?" Hank squawks. "Why?"

"You said you're going to the bunker. I could tear through that door like tissue paper. I won't be able to do that if I'm unconscious."

"Okay," Alex says.

His fist connects with Erik's skull a half second later, sending the German mutant to the floor.

"Alex!" Hank shrieks.

"What? He told us to do it."

"Yes, I suppose…"

He appears to still be breathing. And Hank holds no particular fondness for the man, he's been almost as rude since their first meeting as Alex. So Hank leaves Erik where he fell and hurries after Alex, who's already a good distance down the corridor.

Within minutes they arrive at the basement bunker. Alex, who has spent much more time down there than Hank, sets about securing the door for them.

"That should hold," he declares. "Now what do we do?"

"Now, I guess, we wait," answers Hank. "The effects of the serum may only be temporary, as long as it remains in my system. If that's the case, it could dissipate in a matter of days, even hours."

"And if not? Can you make a cure for your cure?"

"I can most likely manufacture an antidote, yes. I don't believe this was a natural progression of my original mutation, but rather a bizarre side-effect."

"And what if it's just permanent?" Alex demands. "Did you ever think of that?"

"I'd prefer not to think about that possibility," mutters Hank.

"Smart," the blond sneers. "Because it's not like not thinking about consequences is what started this whole mess or anything."

"No, I don't want to think about it because honestly, Havok," Hank snaps, putting an extra dose of venom into Alex's codename, "I don't want to consider the idea that you may be the only person who can be in my company for the rest of my life. I don't know why you're the one person immune to this thing that's happening to me, and I don't particularly care. The way you treat me sometimes, I'd prefer that creepy red fellow with the tail, or even Shaw himself, be here right now instead of you."

It's maybe the meanest thing Hank has ever said to anyone. The look on Alex's face – like Hank physically struck him rather than verbally – is one Hank has never seen there before. Except maybe he can vaguely recall one instance, but it's unclear. Like there's a fog around that particular memory.

Alex mumbles something, a guttural series of words that Hank can barely hear. He's able to catch "goddamn" and "fuck-up" (no doubt directed at Hank) as Alex stalks to the opposite wall of the bunker. For a moment, Hank assumes he's heading for the door, abandoning him there in the fallout shelter, and thinks maybe he deserves it for that outburst. Instead, Alex squats down on the floor beside it, resting his head against the concrete wall.

With nothing else to do, Hank begins to pace the width of the room. In truth, Hank's outburst was mostly borne out of his frustration with himself, and with this day. There's still a cloud around most of the time he was in the library with Professor Xavier. He strains to remember. The last thing he's able to glean from before Xavier's influence lifted is the professor explaining something. And Alex nodding, like he understood. He stops dead.

"You lied."

"What?" Alex replies. "Oh, right, I'm a criminal. I must be a liar, too. So what am I lying about?"

"You said you don't know why your body is able to resist the pheromones," explains Hank. "That's a lie. The professor, while I was still under his influence, he said something to you. I can't – I don't remember what it was. But he said there's a reason you're impervious."

"Hey, I'm not a pervert!" Alex barks. "I don't care what that snooty asshole professor said! All right? It's not true."

"That… That isn't what impervious means, Alex."

"Oh."

Hank can't help but wonder, "Why would you think…?"

"Because…"

Regardless of the distance between them, Hank can see that Alex is shaking. It's heartbreaking to watch, even on someone who hates him.

"Because I like guys, okay?" Alex says, and his voice is shaking, too. "Because yeah, I guess I am a pervert. I've always been attracted to guys instead of girls and, I dunno, Professor Mind-Reader must've picked up on – on that. It's why your things, the furry things or whatever, they don't affect me."

Now it's Hank's turn to say, "Oh."

"But I can still kick your ass, Hank, and don't you fucking forget it," Alex grits out, jaw tightened firmly.

Unable to speak, Hank simply nods. What can he even say?

He's heard whispers about homosexuals before. Warnings, mostly. That they're creepy old men who are sick, who prey on young boys. Except Alex isn't an old man, he's younger than Hank. And he doesn't seem sick. Angry, maybe, but capable of kindness and bravery. Like the night of the attack. The way Alex used his own body to shield others from harm, and how risked his life to try and take Shaw out.

Hank's mind reels. All this time, he'd only seen Alex for his outer shell, his appearances and easy-going persona. He never considered what might be going on behind those jaded, narrowed eyes. That Alex could be carrying a secret just as damning as mutated feet.

"I don't think you're a pervert, Alex," falls out of Hank's mouth. Alex's head snaps up, his eyes like those of a cornered animal.

"Whatever," he replies, looking away again.

The scientific part of Hank's brain, always at work even when it's involuntarily, pings suddenly. Something in Alex's story is off.

"But," he says, "but that doesn't really explain your immunity. The victim's gender and sexuality, it would seem, are irrelevant to their susceptibility."

"Jesus, Hank, can you ever talk like a human?" Alex complains.

"Being a homosexual isn't what makes you immune to the pheromones," Hank translates for him. "Charles would know that. There's another reason. What aren't you telling me?"

Alex doesn't even look shy anymore, just plain defeated. Like he's already given up more than he ever has before, so what's one final killing blow?

"He said… Something about, if someone already had the response without the chemicals, they wouldn't be affected by them."

Again, though heavier than before, Hank responds with a simple, "Oh."

"Yeah," Alex grunts, gaze locked on the cement floor. "Big fuckin' oh."

"But…"

It doesn't make sense, The very idea is forming a pressure headache behind Hank's eyes.

"This entire time. You've made me think you hate me."

"I did that because…" Alex sighs. "Because it made it easier. I've seen you with Raven, okay? I know what's up, I know that I – and even if you were, y'know, that way, a guy like me wouldn't stand a chance. I'm just a dumb kid who'd still be in prison if I couldn't shoot laser beams out of chest or whatever the fuck you call it. I'm a fuck-up on every level, Hank. Acting like I hate you is easier than admitting how much I don't."

It figures that the first time Hank is shown that Alex has feelings at all, those feelings are for Hank himself. He's suddenly all too aware that he is still in nothing but his underclothes. Getting redressed might make him look like he's uncomfortable now, and he's surprisingly not. If anything, Alex's confession sort of makes him… happy.

"Why me?" Hank wonders.

"Oh, for God's sake, Hank…"

"I'm serious," he insists. "You're always making fun of my appearance, of my feet –"

"Your feet aren't that bad," Alex interrupts. "Yeah, they're gross, but they could be worse. And they're only one part of you. The rest of you, man. You're pretty fit for a nerd. You've got a cute face, and some intensely blue eyes. Plus you're smart as hell. And you're kind, and patient. No matter how frustrated I get with my stupid mutation, and how many times I've taken my anger out on you, you still help me." He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. "Jeez, I dunno why I'm even telling you all this…"

"I'm glad you are."

And he means it, too. The way Alex describes him, the way Alex thinks of him, sounds awfully familiar. They sound like the sort of things Hank thinks about Alex. Perhaps not the smartness or the patience. But he's certainly noticed Alex's physique, and the other boy's own piercing blue eyes. He always assumed this was normal. Or maybe Hank simply told himself that because he didn't want to believe what it truly meant, that there was yet another thing wrong with him. That the sad stirring he gets whenever he looks at Alex, whenever he looks at any handsome man, is longing, but not to be like them. To be with them. To be with Alex.

He kneels beside the blond on the concrete floor.

"I want to…" Hank swipes his tongue over his lips. "Can I try something?"

As he leans in, Alex pulls back the slightest bit and says, "Wh-what are you doing?"

"I just wanna try something…"

It's incredibly chaste, even as far as first kisses go, and considering Hank is already in his underwear. More a rudimentary pressing together of lips than a real kiss, which is why it's followed by another, one with more feeling to it. By the third, it almost feels natural. Alex, whose breath has been coming out through his nose in quick bursts, actually starts kissing him back, but not long before he pulls away again.

"You'd better not be fucking with me, Hank," Alex says, and there's anger in his voice but it's overshadowed by the sadness breaking through. "You'd just better not, or I swear to God…"

"I'm not," Hank replies softly. "I'm not, I'm really not."

"Okay," says Alex, swallowing hard. "Good."

And then they're kissing again. Soon they're both lost in the rhythm of it, in the clashing of lips and tongues and teeth.

Much later, Charles sends a telepathic warning to make themselves presentable, as he's sending food down for them with Raven, whose mutation is easiest to defend against should the pheromones still be an issue. The air of amusement lining the message makes Hank anxiously wonder exactly how much Charles was able to sense going on in the bunker.

"I don't feel anything," Raven notes after placing down a tray of sandwiches.

"Then I suppose the worst is over," says Hank.

"You two might want to stay down here a little while longer," Raven suggests. "I don't know if it's a side-effect of the serum or what, but you've both developed a few spots on your necks. If I didn't know any better I'd think they were love bites."

Once the blast door is closed behind her, Alex collapses against it in a fit of laughter.

"It's not funny," Hank huffs, rubbing his neck self-consciously.

"That's not why I'm laughing," replies Alex.

"Then why?"

With a wide grin, Alex replies, "I was just thinking about what Professor X will say when he finds out Magneto kissed you."

The very notion nearly reverts Hank to his earlier foul mood. Luckily, Alex yanks the taller boy back down for another kiss, and for a while Hank can think about nothing else.

_end._


End file.
